


Sacrament

by elrhiarhodan



Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Bite Kink, Body Worship, Cock Piercing, M/M, Nipple Piercing, Oral Sex, Piercing, Plot-what-plot, Pre-Canon, Romance, Sacrilege, Slash, Smut, Trévelieu, Use of Religious Imagery For Sexual Pleasure, Yes there are some historical accuracies here so shoot me, body kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Armand worships his lover's body before he needs to attend Mass.  Sometimes being such a political animal is a real pain.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Sacrament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



> If I believed, I am probably going straight to hell for this. Good thing I don't. Inspired by the prompt "A part of your body that is sacred to me" and written for my bestie, Kyele, just because I wanted to make another foray into a fandom I really know nothing about ::snorfle::
> 
> I also happened to be listening to [this particular ditty](https://open.spotify.com/track/2No5KhoABiW65OuIAqYNym?si=aefd9710acf34481) when I started writing (Spotify link). Sorry not sorry.

It’s still dark, but church bells are ringing all over Paris, to awaken the faithful and summon them to Mass on one of the holiest days of the year. Armand Jean du Plessis, the newly elevated Cardinal de Richelieu opens his eyes and stares up at the darkness, knowing that his presence will be required at Sainte-Chapelle, and then at His Majesty’s grand new church, Saint Paul Saint Louis. He’s exhausted just thinking about the day ahead of him.

Not that he has actually celebrated the sacrament of Mass in over a decade, he’s not _that_ much of a hypocrite. Armand much prefers to perform the holy rites over the body of his beloved in ways that would give his more orthodox brethren apoplexy. (Not that they aren’t personally familiar with sodomy, they just prefer to practice it on girlish choir boys who can’t protest. His choice of catamite, a ruggedly handsome captain who welcomes him into bed with words of love that would make a Parisian whore blush, would likely get them both excommunicated.)

But today is Ash Wednesday and even if he isn’t celebrating Mass, he’s still needs to be present during the service. Armand sighs, feeling much put upon.

"Whatever is the matter, Armand?" Tréville rolls over. "You sound like you’re on your way to the headsman’s axe."

"No, just thinking of the devil’s bargain my mother made when I was twelve and too silly and prideful to object to be committed to the clergy. Which is why I have to be up at dawn to watch the Bishop of Paris celebrate mass when I’d rather be in bed with you."

Jean smiles at him and Armand can feel a bit of his annoyance melt away. "It is still a few hours until dawn. What shall we do with the time?"

Jean does nothing so vulgar as wag his eyebrows, but Armand can tell that his lover is struggling not to. 

"I can think of a few things. Perhaps we can discuss Aristotle. I do remember how much you enjoyed your studies when we were at university."

Jean groans, remembering his struggles with Greek philosophy. "Anyone ever tell you what an utter bastard you are, my Red Eminence?"

Armand hates when Jean calls him that. "You, ever time I won’t let you come and spoil the freshly laundered sheets."

"Fuck off."

"Oh, I intend to." Armand pushes Jean onto his back and straddles him. His lover is such a strong and beautiful man, a warrior David to his Jonathan. For all his own arrogance, Armand always wonders what he has done to deserve Jean, to hold his love and loyalty so absolutely.

"Are you going to stare at me until the sun rises, or are you going to - "

Armand doesn’t let Jean finish that sentence. He kisses him, pouring out all of the love he feels for him, hoping that Jean understands everything that he so rarely says. Armand can be eloquent with kings and queens, with dukes and princes, with powers temporal and spiritual, but when it comes to his precious Jean Armand de Tréville, he loses his power of speech and becomes as inarticulate as a dog.

Armand breaks the kiss, but doesn’t let go of Jean’s mouth, softening his lips, letting Jean taste him. But Jean pulls back. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine, I just want to worship you this morning. You are my holy sacrament." He trails his lips down Jean’s chin, to his strong shoulder and thinks of all the times he’s bitten down there during sex, marking Jean like an animal. But not today.

Today he wants to worship his lover. He spreads kisses on Jean’s collarbone, he drinks the dewy sweat from the cup at the base of Jean’s throat before heading to more sensitive points.

The gold and ruby studs that adorn both of Jean’s nipples are both exquisite and an exquisite joke - made from the hideously ugly ruby ring that was part of the vestments belonging to Armand’s predecessor at Luçon. Before he takes one between his teeth, Armand looks Jean in the eye and asks, "May I?"

Jean grins, "Of course. They’re yours."

Armand knows this, but Jean is _Jean_ , and he would no more hurt him than he would cede earthly power to a Protestant heretic. But with Jean’s consent so beautifully granted, Armand bites down, ever so carefully.

And Jean’s reaction is everything that Armand could ever hope for. His cock, already hard and burning against Armand’s belly, spurts a little pre-come. Armand tugs a bit harder and Jean groans. 

"You keep doing that and I’m going to come all over you.

Armand lets go and laughs. "Then I can go to Mass wearing your come under my vestments."

"Yes, you are the devil." Jean rolls his hips against him, seeking purchase for his desire, but now Armand is feeling perverse, and pulls away.

"No. I want you to come in my mouth. When I give His Majesty the Kiss of Peace, my breath will stink of your spend."

Jean laughs. "You wouldn’t dare."

Armand sighs. "No, I suppose not. I may be the devil and a foul beast, but I am not that disgusting. I will have my morning chocolate before services."

Armand pushes aside thoughts of the King and the Mass and returns to the pleasures of Jean’s body, worshiping the familiar beauty, the hardened planes of muscle, too many scars earned in battle, and finally, the great prize.

Jean’s beautiful cock, wearing Armand’s ring, made from the rest of the gold and rubies from Luçon’s vestments.

Armand goes down on Jean’s cock, hungry for it like a man who hasn’t eaten for days, or perhaps a repentant sinner receiving the Holy Sacrament for the first time in too many years. He knows what excites his lover and uses that knowledge to make Jean cry out in pleasure, taking his own enjoyment from Jean’s guttural words.

If Jean calls him a filthy cocksucker and a soldier’s whore while filling his mouth with his come, well Armand doesn’t mind. It is the truth, after all. And Armand will have his own delightful revenge for these petty insults. Tonight, after all the pomp and holy ceremony is complete, and Armand has washed the stink of incense off his skin and Jean has done the same with the sweat and gunpowder, he’ll fuck his captain until he swears that Armand is the Lord God himself.

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> In order to keep the family solvent, Armand's widowed mother pledged her youngest son to the clergy and at 21, Armand became the bishop of Luçon (he was actually way too young for the position, and needed to go to Rome to get a dispensation). Whether or not the bishopric's vestments (including the ring) were ugly, I do not know, but let's go with it. Armand certainly would have made them into intimate jewelry for his beloved.


End file.
